I Only Wanted
by o-Vana-o0
Summary: A story based on the play version of 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Written entirely from Mayella Ewell's perspective with some Atticus mental commentary , Mayella comes to Atticus with a startling confession: she was the one who killed her father, Bob Ewell.
1. Chapter 1

((A/N: This story started when I was playing Mayella in a local theatre production of 'Mockingbird'. The man who played Atticus became one of my best friends in the world, so I wrote this story for him, and to help me get into Mayella's head. Believe me, she's not an easy character sometimes!

All characters belong to Harper Lee…I just play with them sometimes.))

"I killed my papa."

Atticus Finch stared at the young woman who had just uttered those words as he settled slowly into his seat. "I'm sorry, Miss Mayella?" he asked.

Her shoulders twitched irritably. "Mayella," she said sharply. "Just Mayella, Mr. Finch. And you heard me; I killed Bob Ewell, my papa."

Atticus took a couple deep breaths as he studied Mayella Violet Ewell. She was sitting across his desk from him, and obviously ill at ease in the comfortable chair. It had been several months since the trial; Mayella was about twenty, then, though she didn't look any older than about seventeen. Her handkerchief was in her hand, and she used it occasionally to wipe sweat from her forehead. As far as her clothes went, she'd tried to look her best, just as she had in the trial. Her dress was faded, but clean, and her bare feet had been carefully wiped at the door.

When he felt he was in control of his voice again, Atticus said, "Heck Tate insinuated that Boo Radley killed Bob Ewell." She looked blank, so the lawyer translated, "I mean, he thought Boo killed your father."

"Mr. Tate wadn't there, Mr. Finch," Mayella said, twisting her handkerchief around her fingers. "I was."

"Jean Louise didn't say you were there." Atticus's voice was calm, much like the tone he'd used in the courtroom to extract some true answers from the young woman. "Neither did Jem."

"The girl's nickname be Scout?" Mayella asked. "She was in that ham outfit; she didn't see nothin'. And the boy was unconscious by the time I killed Papa." She stared at Atticus. "You think I'm lyin'?" she demanded, suddenly angry. "Why would I lie 'bout this?"

"Why have you come to me with this?" Atticus asked, putting his hand palm-down on his desk in a consoling gesture. "I'm not a lawman."

"I know that." Mayella reminded Atticus of a cat, easily frightened and easily riled to anger. If she were a cat, she'd still be snarling softly. "But I need to tell somebody 'fore I leave."

Atticus's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Where are you going?"

She shook her head impatiently, waving the question away. "That idn't important right now. I'll tell ya when I've told my story." She stood up. "'Less you don't want to hear it…"

"Sit down, Miss Mayella," the lawyer said, shaking his head with a slight smile. "I do want to hear your story."

Slowly, the young woman settled back into the chair and shifted to make the worn leather fit her body again. She didn't even seem to mind the 'Miss Mayella' title at the moment; she was too busy thinking. "Where to start?" she asked at last, seemingly talking to herself. "You know 'bout everything with Robinson." A flush of shame colored her cheeks as she looked up at Atticus sharply. "You know I was lyin' on the stand, right?"

"Yes," Atticus said quietly, folding his hands on the desk and watching Mayella quietly.

She nodded slightly. "Then I guess I'll start there." Sitting back in the chair, she looked up at the ceiling. "It been about five months since that trial, hadn't it?"

Atticus nodded. It was hard to believe it had been that long, but Jem's cast had just been removed a couple days ago, marking the sixth week since Bob Ewell's death.

"Pa made me lie on the stand." Mayella wasn't looking at Atticus; she seemed riveted by her work-worn hands and the faded cloth she wrapped around her fingers again and again. "He tol' me that he'd make me regret the day I was borned if I didn't tell the story he wanted me to tell." Her eyes were distant as she lifted her head slightly and tossed her dirty blonde hair back. She was seeing that day in court again. Unconsciously, she wiped her forehead again as she swallowed. "I wanted to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth." She wasn't talking to Atticus anymore, though she was aware he was listening raptly. "When I took the stand, my legs felt like a newborn foal's; too weak to hold me up easy…"

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" The clerk sounded bored as he administered the oath that every witness had to take.

Mayella, her hands shaking, nodded and answered quietly, "Yes." Inwardly, she was laughing hysterically and couldn't quite stop. No, she wasn't going to tell the truth! A glance at her papa as she settled into the wooden witness chair confirmed that; he was lightly tapping his fist against his palm as a reminder of what would happen if she didn't tell the story he had created.

Mr. Gilmer stood up after looking over his notes and said, "Please tell the jury in your own words what happened the evening of November 21st."

November twenty-first. Was that the day the whole mess started? It seemed so far away now…more than six months back. Lost in her memories—her _true_ memories—of that day, Mayella jumped when Mr. Gilmer cleared his throat and asked, "Where were you at dusk on that evening?"

'_Focus, girl! You can make it through this alive.'_ Mayella took a deep breath and answered, "On the porch." _'There, see? Your voice didn't even shake too much.'_ But this was the easy part; Mr. Gilmer was on her side. Her eyes darted to Atticus Finch, sitting beside Tom Robinson with his arms crossed and watching Mr. Gilmer's questioning impassively. He didn't fool her now; she'd seen a flash of something through the impassivity when he was cross-examining her papa. He was very intelligent and had a knack for getting at the truth.

"What were you doing on the porch?" Mr. Gilmer's voice made her jerk away from looking at the other lawyer. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out as Atticus fixed that piercing gaze on her for a moment. Tears came to her eyes as she looked away and played with her handkerchief. How much had Tom told Atticus Finch?

Judge Taylor tapped his gavel lightly to gain her attention before saying, "Just tell us what happened. You can do that, can't you?"

'_No, I can't!'_ Her sharp teeth closing on her bottom lip kept her inner cry back. She had her orders; she wasn't to cry until she was actually testifying.

"What are you scared of?" Judge Taylor asked. Mayella's shoulders shook as she shot another glance at Atticus. She was scared of everything right now. At least Atticus was a focus for her terror; she could forget that her papa would hurt her badly if she messed up.

Swallowing, she cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered, "Atticus Finch," to the judge. She'd forgotten he was old and more than half deaf.

"What was that?" the judge asked.

Forcing her voice to work with her, she pointed at Atticus Finch. "_Him_." Mr. Gilmer backed up so he wasn't on the other end of her finger, and Bob Ewell grinned as Atticus looked up from his pad of paper. "Don't want him doin' me like he done Papa, makin' him out left-handed."

An amused laugh rippled through the courtroom as Judge Taylor stared down at the young woman. Her gaze shifted between her papa, who was chuckling and nodding, Atticus Finch, who was watching her intently and without expression, and the judge, who was shaking his head and trying to find words.

"How old are you?" he finally asked, certain she couldn't be such a wilting violet without being rather young and intimidated by the surroundings.

'_What's that got to do with anything?'_ But sassing the judge would be to display suicidal tendencies, and Mayella knew that. "Nineteen-and-a-half."

Blinking rapidly, Judge Taylor said, in a tone she was sure he meant to be kindly, "I see. Well, Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you…"

'_Ha,'_ Mayella thought as she slumped down in her chair to avoid the defense lawyer's steady stare.

"And if he did, I'm here to stop him. Now, sit up straight and tell us what happened." Judge Taylor shook his head again and rested his arms on his bench. How had this girl managed to make it to almost twenty?

'_All right, you can do this. You've practiced this over and over.'_ Mayella took a deep breath as she shifted her backside back in the chair, trying not to wince as she hit a bruise that hadn't quite gone away. "Well," she started, her voice a bit squeaky, "I was on the porch, and he came along, and, you see…" She swallowed again. So far, she was telling the truth. Now she had to start the lie Bob Ewell had invented, based loosely on an old truth. "There was this old chiffarobe in the yard Papa'd brought in to chop up for kindlin'. Papa told me to do it while he was off in the woods…" _'Getting stone-drunk, as usual,'_ she added mentally. "But I wasn't feeling strong enough then, so he came by—"

"Who is 'he'?" Mr. Gilmer interrupted, making her jump. She'd almost forgotten she was in the courtroom; she had practiced this while working on her flowers so much that she'd forgotten that she would be talking to real people when giving this testimony.

Her hands shaking again, Mayella pointed at Tom Robinson, who sat beside Atticus. "That'n yonder. Robinson." The black man looked away from her as his lawyer glanced sideways at him.

Mr. Gilmer turned to look at Tom and nodded, almost to himself, as he asked, "Then what happened?"

'_Stick to the story,'_ the young woman reminded herself. "I said, 'Come here, boy, and bust up this chiffarobe for me, I gotta nickel for you.' So he came in the yard, and I went in the house to get the nickel." She took a deep, sobbing breath. "An' 'fore I knew it, he was on me." She didn't dare look at Tom, though she could feel him staring at her. "He got me 'round the neck." She demonstrated with her own hands, her calloused fingers tightening as emotion twisted her face slightly. "I fought, but he hit me agin and agin." She had to stop so she wouldn't burst out in tears; she needed to make it to the end of the testimony looking collected.

"Go on," Mr. Gilmer prompted gently, coming to stand beside her witness chair.

"An'…he…took advantage of me," Mayella managed, shaking as she curled into herself a bit.

"Did you scream and fight back?" Mr. Gilmer asked as he crossed to look at Tom Robinson, who refused to look up at the prosecuting attorney.

"Kicked and hollered as loud as I could," the young woman replied, regaining control over her voice.

"Then what happened?"

This was the part where she had to fudge a bit. "Don't remember too good," she said slowly. "But Papa come in the room and was hollerin'," _'You goddamned whore, I'll kill ya!'_ "Who done it? Then I sorta fainted," _'Yeah, helped a few times by Pa's fists…'_ "An' the next thing I knew, Mr. Tate was helping me over to the water bucket."

"You fought Robinson as hard as you could—tooth and nail?" Mr. Gilmer asked, unaware of his witness's mental dialogue as she fought for breath.

"I positively did," Mayella replied. 'Positively'. That was a new word for her, and she liked the taste of it, despite the fact that it came from her papa's mouth. Maybe she could survive this pit of huge words by learning some and using them as a block.

"You are positive he took full advantage of you?"

'_What a goddamn stupid question! Would I say it if I wasn't 'positive'?'_ "I already told ya," she sobbed, turning in her chair to face the jury. "He done what he was after."

"That's all for now," Mr. Gilmer said, nodding to her. She shot to her feet instantly and tried to head for the bench again. While sitting beside her papa was a less than pleasant thought, anything was better than being the center of attention here. Mr. Gilmer's next words stopped her mid-step. "But stay here." He motioned for her to sit down again as he turned back to his own seat. "I expect big, bad Mr. Finch has some questions."

'_Oh, thanks so much,'_ Mayella thought as she sank into the witness seat again and fiddled with her handkerchief. She felt like she was going to throw up as she glanced up at Atticus, who was shaking his head at Mr. Gilmer.

"State will not prejudice the witness against counsel for the defense," Judge Taylor said in a snooty tone as Atticus stood up and shuffled a couple of papers on his desk.

'_Them's a lot of big words,'_ Mayella thought, wondering what exactly the judge had said.

"Miss Mayella," Atticus said in his low, cultured tone as he stood facing the jury. His voice sent a shiver of fear down her spine, and she curled into herself again. "I won't try to scare you for a while, not yet." Behind the curtain of her hair, Mayella rolled her eyes as the jury chuckled a little. Yeah, _that_ was reassuring. "Let's get acquainted. How old are you?"

He couldn't be that stupid. She'd seen his mind for detail when he caught her papa out as left-handed. "Said I was nineteen, said it to the judge yonder." She jerked her head at Judge Taylor, sitting beside her, as she stared at Atticus, trying to figure out what his game was.

"You'll have to bear with me, Miss Mayella," Atticus said with a placating little hand gesture. Her shoulders jerked and her muscles tightened as he continued, "I can't remember as well as I used to. I might ask you things you've already answered, but you'll give me an answer, won't you? Good."

The nerve of him, assuming she would just go along with him like a little puppy without her saying that she would do so! "Won't answer a word as long as you keep mockin' me." The words burst out of her before she could check them and make them sound better.

"Ma'am?" the lawyer asked, looking genuinely startled.

Oh, sure, like he didn't know exactly what he was doing. "Long as you call me 'ma'am' and say 'Miss Mayella'." The mocking titles came out like they were coated in venom. How could he sit there and make fun of an Ewell, who everyone agreed were as bad as the dirt underfoot, with those fancy titles? "I don't have to take his sass," she added, turning to Judge Taylor with a pleading expression. He couldn't let her be mocked here; she was the victim, after all.

"That's just Mr. Finch's way," Judge Taylor replied, shooting down her hopes neatly. "We've done business in this court for years, and Mr. Finch is always courteous."

Scowling, Mayella turned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking further into the chair. Ignoring her, the judge went on, "Atticus, let's get on—and let the record show that the witness has not been sassed."

A soft laugh rippled through the room, and Mayella's scowl deepened as she kicked out a foot vindictively. No matter what, she decided, Mr. Finch wouldn't provoke her. She wouldn't give anything away.

"How many brothers and sisters have you?" Atticus asked, facing the jury. He acted as if nothing had happened, and this was just a nice, social call.

"Seb'm," Mayella replied shortly.

"You the oldest?"

"Yes."

"How long has your mother been dead?"

That question gained a bit of a reaction. Her shoulders twitched as she lifted a hand and played with the ring she wore on a bit of string around her neck. She knew exactly how long her mother had been dead, but she said, "Don't know. Long time."

"How long did you go to school?" Mayella expected Mr. Gilmer to react to that question as he had to the literacy question Atticus had posed to Bob, but the prosecuting attorney still sat in his chair. Apparently he decided it wasn't worth the effort to object.

"Two year?" Mayella asked, staring over the heads of the jury in her effort to remember. "Three year? Dunno."

"Miss Mayella, a nineteen-year-old girl must have friends." Atticus spoke in a loose, off-hand manner, but he was watching the witness's face carefully as he asked, "Who are your friends?"

The young woman's face furrowed as she looked at him. "Friends?" she asked. The word was one she'd heard before, but she'd never put it to practice in her life. Her closest neighbors were black, and the white folk she did interact with didn't spend more time around her than they had to.

"Don't you know anyone near your age?" Atticus asked, pressing the question further while moving closer to Mayella. "Boys—girls—just ordinary friends?" He put special emphasis on the word 'boys', and Mayella tightened up in anger again.

"You makin' fun o' me again, Mr. Finch?" the young woman demanded, leaning forward in her chair. She had a short fuse when it came to outsiders, and Atticus Finch seemed to posses a knack for setting her off.

He didn't press the question any more, allowing her reply to stand as the answer to his question. Instead, he switched topics instantly. "Do you love your father, Miss Mayella?"

Mayella's mind jerked to a halt as she tried to process this new question. Where had that come from? She hesitated, glancing at Bob, before asking, "Love him, whatcha mean?" Stalling was a tactic that was a winner most of the time. If she had a moment to think, she could come up with something that wouldn't get her hurt when she got home.

Atticus shrugged as he came to stand in front of the witness bench, deliberately standing so Mayella couldn't look at her father. "Is he good to you, is he easy to get along with?"

The lawyer's easy, conversational tone loosened Mayella's shoulders as she shrugged a little. "He does toll'able 'cept when—" She cut herself off with a soft gasp. Oh, chicken shit! She was in for it now; she'd meant to just say that her papa was tolerable to be around. But Atticus Finch was so damned charming when he wanted to be…

"Except when…?" Atticus prompted, moving closer to her carefully.

"I said he does toll'able," Mayella snapped, looking away from him quickly.

Atticus asked softly, "Except when he's drinking?"

A short silence prevailed as the young woman looked up at Atticus. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes met her hazel ones with the utmost compassion. His expression told her that he already knew, that it was all right to trust him. She could hear Bob stirring behind Atticus's back; she couldn't see her papa, so he couldn't see her. It would be all right. She kept her eyes on Atticus's as she nodded. In a small way, she wanted to fulfill the oath she'd taken to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Besides, the defense lawyer seemed to radiate a sense of trustworthiness; she could see him sitting down with her and gently drawing the whole truth from her.

Atticus smiled slightly. "When he's riled—has he ever beaten you?" He could see bruises on her arms and fading on her face; he knew the answer to his question already without her saying a word.

Mayella jumped in terror as the lawyer moved away again, leaving her exposed to the white-hot glare of her papa again. It so unnerved her after that moment of utter trust that she'd shared with Atticus that she couldn't quite find her breath for a moment.

"Answer the question, Miss Mayella," Judge Taylor said firmly, noticing the glare from Bob Ewell.

"My paw's never touched a hair o' my head," Mayella said, her voice coming out higher than she intended. Bob Ewell's expression promised trouble when they got home.

Atticus turned and considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "We've had a good visit, Miss Mayella," he said at last, leaning against his desk for a moment. "Now we'd better get to the case." She nodded slightly; the sooner this was over, the sooner she could be home again. "You say you asked Tom Robinson to come chop up a—what was it?"

Had he really forgotten, or was he trying something? Mayella didn't know, so she played it very safe. "A chiffarobe, a old dresser." Maybe he didn't know what a chiffarobe was, so he forgot that she'd already mentioned it.

"Was Tom Robinson well known to you?" Atticus picked up a pen from his desk and played with it idly as he watched her.

'_Yeah, very well known…I watched him every day for years, walkin' by the house without his shirt on…'_ "Whatddya mean?" Mayella asked as a stalling device.

"Did you know who he was, where he lived?" Atticus expanded on his question as he set the pen back down before walking over to stand by Tom.

Mayella shrugged. "I knowed who he was. He passed the house every day." Carrying some tool, showing off his strength, even with a hand that was mangled…

"Was this the first time you asked him to come inside the fence?" Atticus looked away to ask that question. He already knew the correct answer and the answer Mayella would most likely give. Cross-examining, he reflected, was like playing chess; it was better to stay three moves ahead of the other side. For example, he had known Mayella would jump at the question, which she just did, and that he would have to repeat his question. "Was this—?"

"Yes!" Mayella exclaimed, cutting him off before he could repeat the incriminating question. "It was."

Atticus didn't have to tell her that he knew she was lying; his expression did it for him. "Didn't you ever ask him to come inside the fence before?"

"I did not." Mayella had recovered from the surprise of the question and was lying gracefully now. "I certainly did not." Another new word, 'certainly'. Maybe it would make Mr. Finch leave her alone.

'_The lady doth protest too much, methinks,'_ Atticus thought, quoting from _Hamlet_ mentally. "You never asked him to do odd jobs for you before?"

It was the term 'odd jobs' that triggered Mayella. Her eyes shuttled back and forth a bit as she remembered Tom chopping kindling for her, Tom carrying water for her geraniums, Tom tipping his hat to her as he went by every day…. She shifted in her seat. "I mighta," she conceded, trying to ignore her papa's angry stirrings from the bench. "There was several niggers around."

Atticus was surprised he'd managed to get that much of a concession from her; he'd expected to use more badgering before she admitted getting a Negro to do odd jobs beyond the one time she'd said in her testimony. From the look of Bob Ewell on the bench, he wasn't happy and would probably have words with Mayella when this was over. Atticus hoped it would only be words. "Can you remember any other occasions?" the lawyer asked, pressing his advantage.

"No." Just like that, a wall was erected around Mayella's thoughts and facial expressions.

"All right," Atticus said, sighing mentally. This young lady was a tough witness, and he could guess why. "Now to what happened. You said Tom Robinson got you around the neck—is that right?"

"Yes," Mayella said softly, staring at the lawyer as her brows creased a little.

"You say—'He caught me and choked me and took advantage of me'—is that right?" Atticus walked closer to her as he quoted her exactly.

"That's what I said," the girl replied, surprised. How could he remember exactly what she had said and forget her age? She had the sensation of a fist closing around her throat. He was a trickin' lawyer, just like her papa had exclaimed. And she'd trusted him with even a small part of the truth…

"Do you remember him beating you about the face?" Atticus asked, tucking a hand into his vest pocket as he watched Mayella. She inhaled sharply, but didn't answer as her hand went to her right eye subconsciously. Deliberately taking the silence as misunderstanding, Atticus went on, "You're sure enough he choked you. All this time you were fighting back, remember?" She nodded confirmation, so he continued in a deliberate manner, "Do you remember him beating you about the face?"

Mayella looked wildly around the courtroom, looking for help in any quarter. Her papa was glaring holes through her, but he wasn't providing an answer for her. Mr. Gilmer was stirring in his seat, seemingly ready to jump up and get her out of the witness chair. She hoped he would, but Atticus was dividing that steady stare between her and the other lawyer. She jumped as Atticus said, "It's an easy question, Miss Mayella, so I'll try again. Do you remember him beating you about the face?"

Her mouth worked for a moment as she stared at the jury, thinking. At last, she said slowly, "No, I don't recollect if he hit me." A look at her papa and Atticus showed that was the wrong answer: Bob Ewell looked as if he wanted to get up and hit her right at that moment, and the defense lawyer's shoulders relaxed a little. Tom Robinson met her eyes for the first time, and his expression of hope seared her to the bone. Casting a terrified look at her papa, she cried, "I mean yes, I do, he hit me!"

Tom's shoulders sagged in defeat and Atticus looked disappointed. Arching a dark eyebrow as he glanced at the nodding Bob Ewell, the lawyer asked, "Was your last sentence your answer?"

Torn between fear of her papa and the desire to save Tom Robinson, Mayella stammered, "Yes, he hit—I just don't remember—it all happened so quick!" To avoid the questions—and Tom's look of sadness—she buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed a little, trying to make the judge feel sorry enough to let her get off the stand.

"Don't you cry, young woman," Judge Taylor said in his soft voice. Mayella's shoulders twitched; so much for keeping Atticus Finch from scaring her! They were all liars and tricksters!

"Let her cry, if she wants to, Judge," Atticus said casually, resting against the edge of his table. "We've got all the time in the world." He meant it as a reassurance to the crying young woman; he knew the truth. He just wanted her to say it, without him calling her a liar outright.

Sniffing wrathfully in an effort to act composed, Mayella snapped, "Get me up here an' mock me, will you? I'll answer any questions you got." And the sooner he asked them, the better. Then she could leave.

"That's fine," Atticus said, standing up straight. His heart ached for the young woman. Because he knew the truth, he knew she wasn't to blame for this mess. But he had to get the truth from her so Tom would have a fighting chance. "There's only a few more. Miss Mayella, will you identify the man who attacked you?" He turned and stared straight at Bob Ewell, pinning the small man with the force of his gaze. Anger of a kind he rarely felt rose in him; how could Mr. Ewell call himself a man and hurt his daughter so badly?

Swallowing, Mayella followed Atticus's stare as she said, "I will." In that moment, she almost pointed at her papa; she could tell the lawyer already knew. But Atticus wouldn't defend 'white trash' when she got home. He wouldn't stand between her and her papa to take the bruises and possible broken bones. For the sake of her body, she pointed at Tom Robinson. "That's him right yonder."

Tom looked away from her pointing finger, wincing as if she had physically hurt him. In a sense, Mayella decided, she had. Well, to hell with it. It was his life or hers, and she had seven siblings to protect from her papa.

Atticus turned to the black man. "Tom, stand up," he ordered quietly. Tom looked up at him, his brows furrowed. The lawyer turned to Mayella as he said, "Let's let Miss Mayella have a good look at you." Tom stood up, and Mayella's eyes were drawn instantly to the chains around his ankles. Tears brimmed in her eyes as her body shook. She didn't want this!

"Is this the man, Miss Mayella?" Atticus asked, pointing at Tom as he stared steadily at the young woman.

She couldn't answer. In that moment, what she was doing became real in a way it had never been before. Her gaze rested on his crippled left hand. Despite that deformity, he was so handsome. He was the gentlest man she knew; the only one who hadn't tried to hurt her. And because of this, because he had helped her when she wanted him to, he was in chains. It was her fault! She was the one who had tried to seduce him! The words almost escaped her, but she reeled them back, gripping the armrests of the chair as she contemplated flight.

Atticus's voice cut through her thoughts sharply. "Is this the man who attacked you?"

Biting her lip until she tasted blood, Mayella made up her mind. She had to live! There was no other goal in her mind; she just wanted life. "It most certainly is." Her condemning words emerged as a croak, and she saw Tom's face crumple. She had just sentenced him to death. No white jury would free him based on her words.

The lawyer looked at his client, then back at Mayella, letting the silence stretch as he made her listen to the echo of her words and think on the implications. Then he asked quietly, "How?"

The simplicity of the question and the gentleness of Atticus's tone sparked Mayella's defense. It was obvious that she was losing in the logical sense, so she lashed out with emotion: "I don't know how, but he did! I said it all happened so fast, I—"

"Let's consider calmly," Atticus interrupted, knowing what she was doing. While he admired her use of tactics, he knew he needed to stop her before she gripped the jury by their heartstrings and made them decide her way based on emotion.

Mr. Gilmer slapped his table, making Mayella jump, as he shouted, "Objection! He's browbeating the witness!"

'_Thank you!'_ Mayella almost screamed. Gilmer was supposed to be on her side, after all, and he was letting Atticus scare her into true confessions. Idiot!

"Oh, sit down, Horace," Judge Taylor replied, laughing. That laugh sliced through the last of Mayella's courage, and she huddled in her chair, shivering. She was alone here. Atticus could ask her anything he wanted, and the judge would just laugh when Mr. Gilmer tried to protect his young witness. No one would help her; no one could or would save her.

Atticus glanced at the judge with a nod before continuing his attack. "Miss Mayella, you've testified the defendant choked and beat you. You didn't say he sneaked up behind you and knocked you cold." Again, he wasn't calling her a liar, not outright. He was merely showing her the holes in her testimony, and his next words opened a loophole for her to slip through: "Do you wish to reconsider any of your testimony?" As he asked that question, he walked to stand beside her again, blocking her father's view of her.

Mayella looked up at him, shuddering and tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice was low as she asked, "You want me to say something that didn't happen?" It would be just what she'd expect from a man; her papa and Mr. Gilmer both wanted her to say things that didn't happen. And here she'd hoped Atticus was different…

"No, ma'am," Atticus replied, keeping his voice hard despite the pity he felt for the young woman. "I want you to say something that did happen." Again, he was providing her a place to tell him that she'd been forced to lie, and she wanted to tell the truth now.

Mayella smelled the loophole, but she didn't trust it; it could be a noose that closed around her neck the moment she tried to slip through it. "I already told ya," she snapped, turning away from him and hiding behind her curtain of hair.

The lawyer paused for a moment as he phrased the question in his mind. "He hit you?" he asked, turning and walking to stand before the jury box again. He ignored her nod as he continued; "He blackened your right eye with his right fist?"

Mayella's eyes went wide. Now she saw where he was going with this, and she realized she didn't have an answer for him. Obviously, someone hitting with only their right fist would bruise the left side of the face, and Tom Robinson's left hand was crippled. "I," she started, trying to think on her feet, "ducked and it—it glanced off." Atticus nodded slightly, the corner of his mouth pinched, and she rushed on, trying to convince him. "That's what it did. I ducked and it glanced off."

'_Right,'_ Atticus thought, realizing that Mayella was just like a child. He'd seen Jem and Scout invent truly good whoppers on the spot when they were covering some misbehavior. She wasn't even a good liar when she had to invent quickly. He let it go as he said, "You're a strong girl. Why didn't you run?"

"Tried to—" Mayella said, trying to regain some control over the avalanche.

"And you were screaming all the time?" Atticus asked, setting up the question as carefully as he would have set a piece to capture the king.

"I certainly was." Mayella was fighting just to breathe while shuddering with fear.

"Why didn't the other children hear you?" Had he thought Mayella was a chess player, Atticus might have added, 'Check' to the end of that question. Instead, he added, "Where were they?"

Mayella's shoulders shifted as she squirmed in her chair and played with her handkerchief. She couldn't say they were down at the dump; the whole town knew the Ewell family only scavenged before dark, and her papa had already said it was almost sundown. But nor could she say where they really were. God only knew how her papa would react to the fact that she'd nicked nickels from 'his' beer money for a whole year to send the kids to town for ice creams. She was proud of that idea. Everyone won, or would have if all had gone as she wanted. The other kids had a rare treat, and she had a chance to be alone with Tom Robinson.

"Why didn't your screams make them come running?" Atticus probed as a dentist might probe a rotten tooth. He let her squirm for a moment longer before he asked, "Or didn't you scream until you saw your father in the window?"

Mayella jumped as if she'd been struck by lightning, looking at her papa. Mr. Gilmer opened his mouth to protest, but Judge Taylor silenced him with a look; he wanted to hear what Mayella would say to the stream of questions.

"You didn't scream till then, did you?" Atticus asked, forcing Mayella's attention back to him forcefully. She still refused to answer; how could she answer in a way that would make him shut up without telling the truth? "Did you scream at your father instead of Tom Robinson? Is that it?" Mayella's hand clenched around the armrest as she fought for every breath. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she wished it could drown out the questions.

Atticus crossed to stand in front of the young woman, making her cringe away from him as he asked, "Who beat you up? Tom Robinson or your father?" That drew a snarl from Bob Ewell and a stunned stare from Mayella; how did he know? How could he know? Mayella couldn't think straight; her throat constricted on any words she might want to say.

The defense lawyer allowed her a moment to squirm before nailing her with the base question. His voice soft, he asked, "Miss Mayella, what did your father really see in that window?" He watched as her eyes shuttled back and forth in desperate terror. She was a trapped animal, and he knew she would probably turn on him in a moment. He decided to push it as far as he dared with his final question: "Why don't you tell the truth, child—didn't Bob Ewell beat you up?"

Mayella's mouth worked in dead terror. She didn't look at Atticus; she didn't look at anyone as she tried to think. At last: "I—I got somethin' to say," she announced breathlessly.

The defense lawyer looked at her for a long, silent moment before he asked, "Do you want to tell us what happened?"

'_Yes!'_ Mayella's heart screamed the single word, but she swallowed it hard. She was going to make it out of this alive, no matter what strings she had to pull. "I got somethin' to say," she repeated, "an' then I ain't gonna say no more." Pointing with a trembling right hand—and ignoring the bruises on the inside of her wrist—she declared, "That nigger yonder took advantage of _me_!" Ignoring Atticus's placid expression, she turned to look at the jury. She had to shame them into believing her! Atticus knew the truth, but it wasn't his decision to make. "An' if you _fine_, _fancy_ gentlemen don't wanta do nothin' about it, then you're all…" She couldn't think of any insults bad enough. This was the moment when she wanted Atticus's big vocabulary; he'd know how to cut them to the bone with a couple words. Her inability to think of anything really bad just made her angrier. The best she could come up with spat out of her mouth: "You're yellow, stinkin' _cowards_. Stinkin' _cowards_, the lot of you!" She was almost screaming by that point, and her sobs made it hard for her to talk, but she had more to say.

Her voice came down to a controlled shout as she looked at Atticus Finch. He was leaning against the edge of his table, looking for all the world like she was just telling him the time of day. How could he be so casual when he had ripped her world to shreds around her? "Your fancy airs don't come to nothin'," she informed him, nearly snarling. He hadn't gotten a confession out of her; in a petty way, she'd won. To drive the point home, she added, "Your _ma'amin'_ and _Miss Mayellarin'_ don't come to nothin', Mr. Finch!" With that, the last of her strength left her. She collapsed over her knees and sobbed. Sobbed in relief that she was done, sobbed in fear for what would happen after this, sobbed for Tom Robinson—she knew her words had killed him as surely as if she had fired the gun herself—sobbed for all the pain she wasn't ever able to express normally.

"That's all!" Mr. Gilmer snapped, coming out of his seat like a rock from a slingshot and moving to stand beside his sobbing witness. "You can step down now," he told her, gently resting a hand on her trembling back. She twitched away from his touch, light as it was, and made her stumbling way back to the witness bench. Mr. Gilmer then looked at Judge Taylor. "Sir, the State rests."

"You can take a break for a moment, if you want," Atticus said quietly as Mayella paused for the thousandth time to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

Shaking her head, Mayella sniffed. "Haven't much more to say, really. I don't need to tell ya what Tom said; you know what he said."

The lawyer nodded as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach, watching her steadily. She had decided to trust him. That struck him deeply; after everything that was revealed in the courtroom and what Tom had told him aside from the trial, Mayella had decided to trust a man with what she had really been thinking while on the stand.

Blowing her nose again, Mayella sank further into the chair and looked at her lap. "When the trial was over," she said in a tiny voice, "we left the courthouse. Papa mighta looked happy in the room, but he was so angry when we got outside…


	2. Chapter 2

"Keep up, girl!" Bob Ewell snapped, striding down the street angrily. He'd been made a fool in court, and the whole town had been there to see it. His wounded pride wouldn't let him stay still for long.

Behind him, Mayella nodded wordlessly as she paused and turned to face the courthouse again. Her heart cried out silently, _'Don't kill him! Please…I was the one lyin'…'_ But she could never say the words aloud, not while her papa kept a tight rein over her life. He would kill her easily, despite her physical strength.

Her shoulders tightened as she thought about her papa, and she quickly turned away from the courthouse. She didn't want to risk any more bruises than the ones she was going to get when they got home. Besides, Miss Maudie and Miss Stephanie would be coming out soon, and she couldn't bear the look in their eyes. Miss Maudie knew that Tom was telling the truth, and Miss Stephanie suspected.

The two Ewells were silent all the way back to their house; Bob was fuming and planning, and Mayella was trying to keep from crying. Her handkerchief was dry now, and slightly crusty from all the salty tears she'd cried into it. She kept squeezing it in her sweaty palm, making it pliable as she passed it from hand to hand. She kept trying to think about something other than that pitiful black face as Heck Tate, the sheriff of Maycomb, led Tom away to await the penalty twelve country men had put on him. Not only twelve men on the jury; Mayella herself had placed that fate on his head the moment she tried to seduce him. Shaking her head violently, the young woman tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. It was over now. There was nothing she could do to save him, even if she had wanted to.

Mayella relaxed a little as they entered the fence that surrounded the Ewell yard. This was her little world. It was imperfect, and painful at times, but she knew how to survive in it. The courthouse was the world of people who used big words, like Atticus Finch and Mr. Gilmer. That wasn't for people like her. She headed for the outside water bucket, but her papa's voice lashed out like a whip. "Get in the house, girl!"

The young woman bent her head a little and walked into the house, her heart in her throat. If she thought she'd been trembling hard in the courtroom, it was nothing compared to the shakes that took her as Bob Ewell kicked the other children out of the house. She felt like a leaf in a hurricane, and she felt tears filling her eyes from sheer terror.

Once everyone was out of the house, Bob stomped over to his daughter, who stood about three inches taller than him, and flung her to the ground by her hair. "You disobeyed me!" he railed as she rolled, protecting her face with her arms. "I told ya, stick to the story! Now everyone knows, all because you broke down before that Finch fool!" He kicked her viciously in the side before grabbing her throat and forcing her hands away from her face.

The next ten minutes were an eternity to Mayella. Bob had been beating her for years; this beating made all others before it seem like a child's pats. She quickly learned to stay down on the floor; she didn't have quite so far to fall when he kicked her legs out from under her. When she tried to defend her ribs and chest with her arms, he twisted her right arm up so hard that she felt something snap. A white-hot stab of pain raced through her arm, and she screamed. Bob just laughed at her pain and redoubled his attacks, aiming kicks for her twisted right arm whenever possible.

At last, he left her alone. Bruised and broken, she lay on the rough floor of the cabin and just cried. "Help me," she whispered through bleeding lips before she coughed and whimpered in pain. "Please…someone…"

The other children were long gone, however; they knew that when their papa was angry, it was time to go down to the dump and scavenge until they were told it was safe again. The closest neighbors were all black, and after the trial… Mayella whimpered again as she tried to curl into herself. She was very, very alone.

Somehow, she managed to pull herself to the water bucket and ducked her whole head in it for a few seconds. When she resurfaced, coughing and spluttering, she felt a little better around her face, but her ribs and arm burned like fire. Biting her lips viciously, she moved her arm to a place where she could see it. Even that motion almost sent her into unconsciousness, but she clung to wakefulness grimly. If she conked out like this, she'd scare the others when they came back.

Her forearm was bent at a strange angle, away from her body. Even touching the skin inches away from the broken point made anguished tears fill her eyes. She let them fall; Bob Ewell wasn't there to mock her for her girlish weakness. "I can't let it heal thisaway," she whispered.

There was only one thing she could do. Forcing herself to her feet, she stumbled over to the tin where her papa kept the money he hadn't drank away. Ten dollars in crumpled bills filled it, along with some odd change. All of the children knew better than to touch it unless it was shopping day; Bob Ewell counted it at random times. But this was an emergency. She wouldn't be any good with a crippled hand. Fumbling and crying in pain, Mayella took out five dollars. Unlike her papa, she was right handed and clumsy with her left hand.

Clutching the bills in her sweaty palm, the young Ewell girl slipped out of the house and made her slow, painful way toward the doctor's house.

Doctor Reynolds quietly disapproved of the Ewells. He knew that the children tended to be horribly unwashed and usually sick with something, and they never called him for anything. Everyone knew that was why Martha Ewell, Bob's wife, had died; she took sick and old tight-fisted Bob refused to call the doctor. It was a shame, but there was no changing some people.

So when he opened the door to find Mayella Ewell, her right arm clutched to her chest and her left fist locked around something, he assumed something horrible had happened. He ushered her immediately into his examining room, where she told him tersely that she'd had an accident in the dump. She didn't lift her head the whole time, so her long, dirty hair covered the marks on her face.

Doctor Reynolds was dubious, but he couldn't really say anything. She had the five-dollar fee—which surprised him when he thought about it later—and her arm was very broken. As a doctor, there was nothing he could do but set her arm.

It took an hour, working with care. She refused to allow him to stick her with painkillers, so he had to stop every time she reflexively pulled her arm away.

"This would be much easier if you would let me give you morphine," he informed her after the fifth time she did that. "At least I could set the bones without you feeling it."

"Ha," Mayella sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her left arm. "I'd feel the needle, Doctor, and it probably wouldn't do nothin'."

"Anything," the doctor corrected absently. "Yes, it would. I've had a broken leg, and the morphine made the pain go away."

The young woman leaned forward to look out the window. She'd already been there too long; she had to get back to the cabin. "All right," she said, settling back in the seat. "But hurry, please."

Sighing in relief—he wasn't a man who liked seeing people suffer when he was trying to help them—Doctor Reynolds injected a dose of morphine into her arm and let it sit for a moment before he took up the work of setting the bone again. After that, it went quickly.

They ran into a bit of a snag when he was almost done. Mayella insisted that he wrap her arm with some filthy cloth she'd brought with her, and the doctor rebelled at the very idea of covering a sensitive arm with filth.

"If you don't, Papa'll know I was here," Mayella said impatiently. "We don't got the money to waste on doctors, he'll say, and I don't wanna be responsible for my brothers and sisters bein' hungry."

Rolling his eyes and muttering something about people living on welfare, Doctor Reynolds wrapped her arm in the cloth she wanted it wrapped in and tied it carefully. "Don't use that arm more than you have to," he ordered her as she got up and tucked her arm close to her middle again. "Come back in six weeks so I can check it."

The door connecting the office to Doctor Reynold's main house opened and Mrs. Reynolds stepped through, carrying a closed bucket. "Here, child," she said, offering it to Mayella. "At least the children will be fed tonight."

Mayella almost slapped the bucket out of the woman's hands; how dare she offer charity to an Ewell! But she stopped and thought for a moment. The Ewells lived on charity from the town, whether they liked to think about it or not. And the bucket held stew; she could smell it and it made her mouth water. At last, she reached out and took the handle from Mrs. Reynolds. "That's right kind of you," she said grudgingly. Nodding to the Reynolds, she turned around and left the house.

"Did your arm heal all right?" Atticus asked as he walked around his office quietly, providing part of his lunch for her.

Mayella extended her right arm for inspection. "Papa was too drunk when he got back to care that I'd been gone for as long as I was, and when he woke up from sleepin', I told him that John helped me with my arm." At the lawyer's puzzled look, she added, "The brother under me, fifteen months younger."

Atticus put an apple and half of a sandwich beside her as he inspected her arm. Like Jem's, it was a little crooked; the doctor couldn't get it perfect. But at least she had the use of her arm, as she demonstrated by making a fist and twisting her arm around.

"He bought it, 'specially since I had the dirty cloth wrapped around my arm," Mayella said, her eyes drawn to the food. "Things got quiet 'round the place again, after all that. Papa spent a lot of time fuming. Sometimes, he'd say things like, 'Why didn't that idiot lawyer react?'"

Atticus smiled ruefully as he unconsciously trailed his idle left hand over his face. He knew what Mayella meant by that quote; after the testimonies and Atticus's final speech, Bob Ewell had stopped him as he was returning from moderating his children, informed him that he was going to kill Atticus if it took him the rest of his life, and then spat in his face. When questioned by his children about it, Atticus had said quietly that he'd rather Bob Ewell take his hurt pride out by spitting on the one the small man perceived as being the root of his humiliation than by beating Mayella. Apparently, Bob had managed to snatch the best of both worlds.

Mayella nodded as she watched his expressions. "You didn't smack him," she said in her blunt way. "Any other man woulda smacked him seven ways to Sunday, but you didn't. Man alive, was Pa mad! If you'da smacked him, he coulda pretended you thought he was something important. But you didn't give him the time of day." She shook her hair back again and sat up slightly straighter. "I think he started plannin' shortly after he broke my arm. He found a knife down in the dump when we was all searchin' through it." Her shoulders shifted a little as she looked at Atticus sharply, expecting some comment about them digging through the dump for their living. Atticus held his peace, glancing up at her over his right glasses lens and arching an eyebrow in silent invitation to continue.

"Like I said, it got real quiet 'round the house after everything," Mayella continued, her body relaxing a little as she realized he wasn't going to pass comment. "Pa found that knife, and he spent weeks and weeks sharpening it." She shook her head. "For a man of big words, Mr. Finch, you're sure dumb sometimes."

That lifted Atticus's head and eyebrows in amazement that she had the guts to say that to him after all her father had put her through. "What on earth do you mean by that?" he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight grin despite himself. If she could find the nerve to insult him in his office, on his turf, so to speak, then she'd be all right in the bigger world.

"Pa told you time and again that he was gonna get you," the girl replied, her eyes narrowing at his smile. She hated it when adults smiled, and she remembered seeing a slight smile on Atticus's face in the courtroom. "But you ignored him. Don'tcha know that when a Ewell has reason, nothing'll stop him?"

"I think I have learned that much." Atticus put his pen down and folded his hands. "Miss Mayella, I feel I need to ask you a simple question before you continue. Do you intend to pick up your father's revenge against me and my family?"

She snorted. "Why?" she asked derisively. "I helped save your kids' lives, Mr. Finch. Pa woulda killed them as easy as he woulda killed a pig or a chicken."

The lawyer's hands tightened and the knuckles turned white as he looked at the young woman with a stony expression. "Please refrain from comments like that in the future," he said tightly. All that had happened was still so very fresh in him; he couldn't forget the wash of anger and pain that had flooded him when Boo Radley appeared on the Finch doorstep with Jem unconscious in his arms. His face went as white as his knuckles.

Mayella watched him before nodding. "See, it's things like that, Mr. Finch, that told Pa how to hurt you. I knew what he was gonna do. I know you think I'm dumb, but I can think, sometimes. Pa wouldn'ta gone after you, not directly: you're awful big and he was awful small. He wouldn'ta gone after Mr. Tate either. Everyone knowed the sheriff keeps a gun loaded by the door. Mrs. Tate never comes out of her house. But we all saw it, on the trial day. The way to hurt you the most is by way of your kids."

Atticus's hands relaxed a little, and then he unfolded them and rested the fingertips on the top of his desk. "They're all I have," he said quietly, as if talking to himself. "They are so like their mother."

The girl nodded again. "He saw that," she repeated simply. "An' I saw it. An' I thought, well, he may be a trickin' lawyer like Pa said. But he cares about his kids, an' that makes him all right. Better'n Pa, anyway."

The lawyer's dark head bowed briefly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Though when compared against Bob Ewell…" his eyes twinkled, encouraging Mayella to share the joke with him.

She took the invitation and smiled slightly, ducking her head to hide it. "Jest about anybody's better than Papa," she admitted. She cleared her throat as she rubbed her palms against her dress. "Like I says, I knowed he was gonna try something 'gainst your kids. I didn't know when." She shrugged. "Papa never made a habit of talkin' to me, even though…" she cut herself off with a sharp shake of her head.

"Even though?" Atticus prompted, his eyes suddenly serious again.

"He jest never made a habit of talkin' to me." Mayella was stonewalling as best as she could, but she had never been an effective actress, and she'd already let her defenses down, even for that brief moment.

"Even though he made you share his bed?" Atticus's voice was soft and incredibly gentle as he bent, trying to meet her eyes.

Her face crumpled as she bent over her knees slightly. "How'd ya know?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Tom said it in the trial, remember?" Atticus said quietly as he got up and put his handkerchief on the desk in front of her. He didn't dare touch her; God only knew what memories that would evoke.

Mayella took the offered handkerchief and buried her face in it. Yes, she did remember. She had replayed his testimony over and over again in her mind when she was alone; it was her last connection to a dead man that she had killed, in a way.

On that fateful day, Tom Robinson took the oath and reported, accurately, that she had kissed him on the side of the face and said that she'd never kissed a grown man before and what her papa did to her didn't count. Until this moment, she'd hoped, obviously in vain, that Atticus had forgotten that. He was old, after all. But he apparently had a memory like a steel trap when he was so inclined.

Atticus was patient as the young woman cried herself out in his handkerchief. There were no other calls on his time at the moment; he was between cases. At last, when she calmed down and pulled the damp cloth away from her face, the lawyer prompted quietly, "Do you want to tell the rest of your story?"

She lifted her head and looked him square in the eye for the first time since she entered his office. "You ain't gonna kick me out?" she asked.

"Why should I? The handkerchief will dry, and you did not go along with your father willingly, as far as I know." Atticus was compassionate; he had known the situation in the Ewell household even before the trial started. Tom was very open in private about what he observed. As he said in the trial, Atticus had nothing but pity in his heart for Mayella Violet Ewell. He remembered watching her and hoping that she could break free from the life she'd been born into. It appeared she'd found some way to do so.

Swallowing, Mayella folded Atticus's handkerchief up neatly and put the damp square back on the desk. "I didn't," she said, just for the record. "I never wanted…" she fell silent before nodding slightly. "Anyhow. Tom Robinson was killed. You know that, of course." He nodded in confirmation as she glanced up at him, her eyes troubled. "I didn't want that. I didn't wanna see him dead. But it was done. Papa laughed about it at home, but it didn't make him less determined to kill you and Mr. Tate." She scratched her scalp speculatively. "That was the end of August, wadn't it? Yeah, I think so. Papa waited until Halloween to do anything."


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone knew about the first annual school pageant; it had been very well advertised around Maycomb County. Burris, the second-to-youngest of the Ewell clan, sneered at the idea of dressing up in stupid costumes and parading around the stage, but Mayella thought it was a cute idea, if a waste of time and materials. None of the Ewell children were invited to be part of it. Mayella privately decided it was because the lady running the pageant didn't want 'dirty' children representing the county.

The kids did trick-or-treat, however. The rule in the Ewell house was that they couldn't be away from the property after dark, as they had chores to do (the kids never did them, but Bob liked to know where his children were—it was easier to control them that way). A few minutes before dark, therefore, the house was full of children squabbling over the contents of rough bags. There wasn't much to argue over, not from Mayella's perspective. Mostly, it was things like apples, rocks that were interesting colors and shapes, a couple pieces of candy, and a bar of soap. The oldest Ewell girl smiled when she saw that in every bag. Well, maybe her siblings would take the hint from that, if nothing else. She doubted it, though.

Her arm had healed quickly, according to the doctor when she slipped over in the middle of October. Six weeks were more than enough, and he removed the splint with care and told her to keep it in the sun and rub it often to remove the pallor. She'd done that, and now her arm looked almost normal again.

At last, annoyed with the noise, Bob chased everyone to bed. Mayella didn't go just yet; she was sitting by the window, mending her littlest sister's dress carefully. As she worked, she watched her papa through her curtain of hair. She could smell alcohol around him and in the bottle he carried; it gave her a headache every time. It surprised her that he was drinking now, though. He usually waited until sometime after dark or when he was away from the house. The effects of his drunkenness, of course, came home with him, but not the bottle. She marked that down as 'weird', but didn't let it bother her too much. As long as he stayed on the side of the room with the stove, she was fine.

Bob took another deep swallow as he rocked back and forth on the back legs of his chair. All was well in his little kingdom, at the moment. His kids were in bed, Mayella was back under his control, and the beer he'd bought from his Sarum friends was particularly good. After draining the rest of the bottle in silence, he got up and adjusted his pants. "Think I'll go out," he announced to the room in general and Mayella in particular.

That brought Mayella's head up and her eyebrows together. He'd already drunk what he had; he had no reason to go out and drink in the swamp, like he usually did. A quiet suspicion filled her as she saw him pick up the knife he'd found and carefully honed over the weeks. She didn't voice any of her thoughts. Instead, she said, "All right," and bent back over her mending.

Watching her work for a moment, Bob's lips curled up in a derisive smile. That was the way he liked his women: silent and submissive. It'd taken all of her life, but he'd gotten Mayella to the right level of submissiveness. He'd almost lost her to the whole Robinson mess. That had been a mess that took a severe beating and a death to solve, but she was firmly back under his thumb, all thoughts of escape banished. Nodding happily, he walked slightly unsteadily out of the door.

Her heart in her throat, Mayella waited until she couldn't hear the gravel under his boots anymore. Once she was sure he was safely away, she rolled her mending up carefully and put it away. Taking a couple slow, deep breaths, the young woman slipped around the small house carefully, checking that the children were fast asleep. Once she was satisfied that they wouldn't be awake until morning, she left the house, closing the door behind her, and ran down the road as fast as she could.

The pageant. The Finch children would be at the pageant. Mayella had no idea how long the pageant was supposed to go, but she knew that somewhere along the way, her boozed-up papa would kill the children. She couldn't let that happen.

She couldn't put her finger on quite why she couldn't allow that as she ran silently through the quiet town. Maybe it was because they were children, and young children at that; she'd seen them at the trial just before the jury came back in. Maybe it was the protective instinct that kept her between her siblings and her papa. But she was pretty sure it was for the simple reason that they were Atticus Finch's children. That required more thought than she wanted to put into it, and she didn't have time for deep thought anyway.

She reached the school and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The pageant was still going on; she could hear music from inside. _'Good,'_ she thought, resting her head against the wall for a moment. It was still warm from the sun, and she closed her eyes to soak up the heat.

She seemed to have arrived at the right time; a few moments after she arrived, she heard laughter from inside and children calling farewells as the door opened to allow small parties of children out. Lurking in the shadows, Mayella watched for the young Finch children, hoping she hadn't forgotten what they looked like. It had been several months, after all.

She sighed with relief when she recognized the Finch boy walking out of the school beside…a walking ham? Mayella frowned over that until she saw that the small legs holding the ham upright had to belong to a young girl, and a young, high voice talked to the Finch boy from inside it. Well, she had to assume that the Finch boy would only be accompanying the Finch girl. She couldn't remember their names, but that was them for sure. They called farewell to their friends before starting into the night. Mayella followed them, sniffing the air quietly. It smelled like a storm was coming in fast.

The children were happily immune from the pressure of the incoming storm; they talked quietly about the pageant and the girl's missing shoes. The boy called the girl 'Scout', and Mayella remembered that the boy's name was Jem a moment before Scout called his name in the dark.

Then Mayella heard it. Footsteps, made slightly unsteady from too much alcohol. Her heart, which had calmed down while she listened to the children's quiet conversation, jumped into her throat again. She'd been right. She had hoped, while following the children on silent feet, that she had misjudged her papa; hoped that he wouldn't take this threat against Atticus Finch out on innocent children. It didn't surprise her that her hopes had been useless, though.

Moments later, Jem paused and looked around. It was hard to see him in the darkness, but Mayella was close enough to see that he was worried as he hushed Scout and listened carefully.

Bob Ewell must have also seen that the children stopped. He did the same. That was something Mayella hated about her papa; he wasn't a clumsy drunk. He was actually better when he was drunk, at least in the area of inflicting pain, than he was sober. Right at the moment, he was smart enough to stop moving when the children did so they would think it was their imagination.

Jem Finch was a smart young man, however; something he must have gotten from his father. When Scout tried to ask him if he was just trying to scare her, he hushed her up and looked around before making her keep going. Mayella and the unseen Bob Ewell took up the pursuit again.

It was a few moments before Bob made his move; for some reason, he waited until the children were underneath the huge tree behind the Radley house. As he got closer and louder, Jem ordered Scout to run as he half-turned and doubled his fists to protect his little sister. The girl attempted to do so, but tripped and fell.

Bob Ewell didn't waste a second. Knife in his hand, he dove for the fallen girl, grabbing her and slashing at the costume. Jem shouted and attacked Bob, both fists swinging. Mayella heard her father shout in pain and he turned on the boy, grabbing his arm in a gesture that was familiar to the young woman. Jem cried out as bones snapped in his arm, and Mayella bit her fist as her arm throbbed in silent sympathy.

She felt she should do something. That was why she was here, right? But the old terror of her father, fostered by years of abuse, kept her feet rooted to the ground and her knees trembling. If she shouted, Bob would know she was there and hurt her. But he'd just hurt Jem; the boy was now on the ground, not moving. He had to be unconscious, and no wonder.

Scout screamed for help at the top of her lungs, filling the dark with the sound of pure terror. Mayella had only heard that sound from another's throat once before, when Bob turned on Burris in a drunken rage because the boy was crying over a stubbed toe. Her knees stopped shaking as she moved forward quickly. She could see the knife in her father's upraised hand; he was going to cut Jem's throat like a pig's. Thinking fast, the young woman grabbed a rock and flung it at Bob Ewell as hard as she could. The dark threw off her aim, but she heard the definite sound of rock meeting flesh and a cry of pain from her father.

He whirled, knife in hand, and stared out into the darkness. Scout was still screaming, only stopping for sobbing breaths when she had to. Just as Bob moved forward to find the person who had just attacked him, another shape emerged from the shadows and picked the small man up bodily.

The knife flashed out of Bob's hand as he flailed, trying to get free from the big, solid hands. But no matter how much he squirmed and kicked and punched, the unseen attacker kept a firm grip. Raising a big hand, the newcomer hit Bob hard across the head. The little man was tough, but it must have been like being hit with a sack of lead; he slumped, unconscious. Grunting in relief, the newcomer dropped Bob with as much regard as one would drop a sack of potatoes and went over to Jem. In the minimal light, anyone could see the boy's face was as pale as a ghost's as he lay helplessly on the ground. Shaking his head, the man picked Jem up carefully and began carrying him away. As far as he was concerned, the job was done. The children were safe.

Mayella disagreed. As long as Bob Ewell was alive, those children were in trouble, along with every Ewell child, including her. When the knife had gone flying, she'd followed it, scrambling in the dirt to find it. As the newcomer walked away, Jem's limp body in his arms, she found the knife and wrapped her hands around the handle as she crawled back to where her father lay unconscious.

She stared down at him. Lying there like that, he looked so small, and she found herself thinking, _'I've been afraid of someone smaller than me for this long?'_ Swallowing hard, she changed her grip on the knife as she put a hand on his chest to figure out the best place. He stirred and moaned under her touch, and she shuddered as she quickly pulled away. For some reason, a phrase Miss Stephanie Crawford had muttered during the trial came back to her: _"He makes me sick just looking at him."_

"You don't know the half of it, missus," Mayella muttered as she took a deep breath. Now that it actually came down to the act of killing him, she didn't know if she could do it. Just then, she heard someone shouting Scout's name. No time, no time! Gripping the knife hard in both hands, she slammed it up to the hilt under Bob's ribs and twisted it as hard as she could. Blood spurted out, soaking her entire front and hands in the sticky stuff, but she was sure he was dead. "That's for me 'n' Tom Robinson," she whispered, releasing the knife.

The owner of the shouting voice got closer rapidly, and Mayella recognized it as Atticus Finch. The unknown helper must have made it back to the Finch house in one piece. Thank God. She moved back into the shadows as fast as she could as Scout worked her way free from the costume and threw herself into Atticus's arms.

It was over, then. Bob Ewell was dead, and the Finch children were safe. Mayella looked down at herself as Atticus guided the sobbing girl back to their house. She was soaked in blood; it would never come out properly. Oh well; it was worth it.

Or was it? Her head came up sharply as she realized something; no one had seen her. They would think that the man who saved the children had been the one to kill Bob Ewell. The law'd kill him for protecting them! Shaking her head violently, Mayella almost collapsed into angry tears. No, no, no! She couldn't let someone else die because of her. Never again!

Inhaling rapidly and biting her lip until it bled, Mayella followed the father and daughter. As she took a place in the shadows close by, she heard Atticus tell the Negro housekeeper to call Heck Tate, that someone had been after the children. When she went inside, the lawyer took a few steps toward the Radley house and took his glasses off. His expression, clearly visible to the hiding young woman, was enough to chill her to the bone. She had never seen such raw hurt and fury on anyone's face before, and she had never dreamed he could feel such deep emotions. He was usually so laid-back…she jumped as he let out a strangled cry of rage and clenched his fist. Evidently deciding that he should leave revenge to the law, he punched his knee hard before turning and striding rapidly into the house.

Time passed very, very slowly, but Mayella stayed in her place silently. Heck Tate would come eventually; he was friends with Atticus. If it looked like the unknown rescuer was going to get the blame, she'd come out and confess. The thought of actually telling the truth to the law—especially the truth she had to tell—turned her knees to water and her stomach into a whirling mess. But she had to do this. Tom had already died for her lies; she wouldn't let this other man die because of her silence.

By the time Heck finally showed up, Mayella had nearly dozed off. His shouts for Atticus woke her in short order, however. A moment later, the lawyer exited his house and said, "Come on in, Heck. Did you find anything?" He turned to look back at his house as he said with quiet incredulity, "I cannot conceive of anyone who'd do this."

The sheriff hesitated before grabbing Atticus's arm and pulling him down into the front yard. "Let's stay outside," he urged in his gentle drawl.

Atticus's eyebrows drew together as he followed his friend down into the yard. "What is it?" he asked. He turned slightly, unintentionally blocking Mayella's view with his back.

She moved sideways just in time to see Heck's expression as he said, "Bob Ewell's lyin' on the ground yonder with a kitchen knife stuck up under his ribs. He's dead, Mr. Finch."

A stunned silence descended on the small group. Scout, sitting up on the porch swing, leaned forward and gulped audibly as Atticus stared at Heck. Mayella heard the front door click closed as the big man who'd rescued the children slipped out and stood on the porch. At last, Atticus asked, in a tone that indicated he was numb, "Dead? Are you sure?"

"Good and dead," was Heck's prompt response. "He won't hurt these children again." In the shadows, Mayella allowed a brief smile to curve her mouth slightly. Good.

Atticus tried to break in, but only got out the first word: "But—"

The sheriff's hands closed tightly around the flashlight he held as he said angrily, "That mean-as-hell, low-down skunk with enough liquor in him to make him brave enough to kill children!"

Mayella breathed in relief, closing her eyes. There were no tears shed over the death of a bad man, she decided. She peeked from behind her eyelashes as Atticus said, "I thought he'd got it out of his system the day he spat at me. And if he hadn't, I thought _I_ was the one he'd come after."

'_Ha,'_ Mayella thought, shifting slightly in the underbrush. A twig snapped under her, and she froze, but Heck was already talking again: "Now you know better." He turned to the girl on the porch swing and leaned against the railing. "He broke Jem's arm," he said, phrasing the statement as a question, "and he grabbed you." Scout nodded, her brown eyes big in her pale face. "Then what happened?"

The girl cleared her throat a couple times, apparently still in shock. "Someone came out—to help. Someone—"

"Who was it?" Heck prompted gently, trying to gentle the shocked girl along.

Scout turned to look at the big man, standing in the corner of the porch. Now Mayella could see her face clearly in the moonlight, and she could see a flash of joy when the girl saw the man who'd saved her and her brother. "Well, there he is, Mr. Tate. He'll tell you his name."

Mayella looked at the man, squinting to see if she knew him. Somehow, the face was familiar; she'd seen him on her night roams through the town. In fact, unless she was mistaken, he had been the one who helped her home after a particularly bad night. Scout stared at him for a moment before a flash of recognition and realization crossed her small face. She got up and walked to him. "Hey—Boo," she said softly.

That was all Mayella needed to hear. She knew now that Boo Radley wasn't going to be blamed for her father's death, and she was uncomfortably aware that his blood had dried on her. Moving carefully, she slipped away from the Finch house and into the dark night.

The hearse had already reached her father by the time she got close. She noted that, nodded, and made a detour around the site. He was dead, the children were safe, and no one was going to suffer for it. A good night, all told.

'_Oh yeah?'_ her mind asked, obviously frightened to death about the future without a father, even a bad one. _'And what are you going to do now?'_

She shrugged, pushing that mental voice away. She'd deal with the lack of a father the same way she dealt with a bad father: take each day as it came and lie as good as possible.

* * *

"And how did that work for you?" Atticus asked mildly. Actually, he was impressed by the young woman's reported ability to keep her family together.

Mayella smiled, the first ghost of amusement she'd shown in a while. "When they came 'round to try and take the young'uns away, I showed 'em I can handle the kids. So they stayed with me. The welfare check was changed to my name. I made the kids stay 'n school longer'n their one day for the truant man; Burris made it t' the next grade. I got a job, 'n so did John."

That news had reached Atticus' ears via the rumor mill in town; John had found a job working for one of the farmers, and Mayella hauled boxes at the general store (first under very careful observation, then with a little more trust as the store manager realized there was something good there, even in a Ewell). "So now I suppose we reach the end of your story?" he asked.

"Yeah," the young woman said, combing her long hair behind her ears absently. "I bin savin' my wages for months, waiting for th' right time, y'see? And now's it. The kids'll stay with John; he's old enough to keep 'em, all legal and right. So I can go."

"You can be free," Atticus said with a smile.

She met his eyes, wary hazel meeting warm brown, and slowly an answering smile spread over her face, lighting her eyes. Atticus realized she was quite lovely, when she relaxed enough to smile, and he knew she'd be all right, wherever she went. "Yeah," she agreed. "I can be free." She stood up, and Atticus stood as well, pushing his chair back from his desk. "I got a ticket on th' next train out," she said, touching the pocket of her dress. "And I even got me a spare dress. Nothin' fancy, but it'll do."

"Where will you go?" Atticus asked, coming around his desk to lean against its front. She shied back a little, but not as badly as he expected.

"Montgomery, for now," she replied, taking a careful step backwards to maintain a safe distance between her and the taller man. Though she'd been free of her father's beating hands for months, the habits of years were still strong. Besides, if her father, who had been about her height, could damage her so badly, what could this taller man do to her if he wanted? "After that, dunno. I got enough money for a little schoolin', maybe enough to learn typin' or somethin' useful in a city." She laughed a little uneasily. The thought of going somewhere so big scared her out of her mind, but that wasn't new; she'd lived in fear all her life. And maybe she could stand being terrified if it led her to something better.

"When does your train leave?" Atticus asked.

She glanced at the clock in the corner and winced a little. "Half hour," she said, backing toward the door. "I should go…I din't mean to talk s'damned long."

Atticus got his jacket from the coat rack and put it on. "Will you allow me to accompany you to the station, Miss Mayella?" he asked. When her eyes darkened and she started to protest the title again, he lifted a hand to pause her mid-snap. "You're making a break with everything you've ever known, young lady. 'Miss' is a title of respect and politeness; you'll have to get used to it in the city. And as I respect the step you're making, I would like to see you off to your new life."

She considered that for a long moment, watching him with the wary eyes of a frightened doe. At last, she breathed out a sigh and nodded a little. "Reckon it can't hurt nothin'," she said.

It might even help, Atticus thought but did not say. After all, she may want to return someday; if the townsfolk saw him, a fairly respected member of the community, seeing her off and encouraging her along her new path, they may be more willing to allow her to come back and make a try at making the Ewell name a little more respected. Instead of speaking, he crossed to the door and opened it for her. "After you, madam," he said with a little bow.

She blushed a little, not quite sure how to take the 'madam', but passed through the open door without an argument. Outside the little office, she picked up her small travel case—something obviously scavenged from the dump and repaired as best as she could—and followed Atticus out onto the street.

They walked in cautious silence to the train depot, where the train rested while discharging passengers and taking on water, coal, and new passengers. The town was reviving a little, Atticus was glad to see. Maybe the hard times were coming closer to being done.

Once on the platform, Mayella took out her ticket and looked at it as if she'd never seen the paper before in her life. "Well," she said at last, looking at Atticus. "Thanks for the comp'ny down here."

"My pleasure," Atticus said, smiling down at the slight woman. He offered her his right hand. She peered at it for a moment before shyly taking it in her right hand and shaking politely. "I wish you all the best, Miss Mayella," he said, gently squeezing her hand in his. "Truly."

"Thanks," Mayella said, meeting his eyes with a shy smile and releasing his hand after a moment. "Means a lot to me." The train whistled impatiently, wanting to be off, and she jumped a little. "Guess I need to go." She hesitated a brief moment, then surprised herself and Atticus: she took one quick step forward and hugged the older man hard for a second. Then she released him, picked up her travel case, and darted onto the train.

Atticus watched as she walked down the line of seats and picked one looking out onto the station's platform. He wondered what had possessed her to willingly touch a man, especially after what her father had put her through, and he hoped for a second that it meant she could move past Bob Ewell and find a new life.

Mayella looked out the window and saw Atticus still standing there. She knew why she'd hugged him, though she was still surprised at herself. Without him defending Tom so rightly and standing against Bob, she might have never found the courage to end her father's life. Without his kids as a reason to drive that knife home, she might have wound up catching pregnant with her father's kid and staying in the same miserable existence for the rest of her life.

She'd wanted Tom's love, because he was the only one to show her any affection that didn't feel wrong. Now Atticus' approval warmed her heart. ___'I only wanted love,'_ she thought. ___'Maybe I'll find it now.'_ She lifted a hand and waved to Atticus as the train began pulling out of the station.

Atticus waved back, his thoughts unconsciously following the same line as hers: maybe now she could find love and make a life outside of Maycomb and the shadow of her father. Maybe when she came back, she wouldn't be a Ewell anymore. And that would be right. ___'She only ever wanted what every human wants,'_ he thought. ___'To be special to someone. To be loved for herself, not for what she could do. Maybe she can be free to find it now.'_

Atticus Finch smiled from the bottom of his heart as he watched the train out of sight and silently wished the young woman onboard well. "Good luck, Miss Mayella," he murmured as he turned to leave the depot. "God go with you."


End file.
